Brazil and La Plata: The personal record of a cruise

by C. S. Stewart

We have renewed our acquaintance pleasantly with Don Juan and Doña M——, and are disposed to regard the simplicity of mind and heart, evidenced by them, the kindness of their manners, and the cordiality of their hospitality, as characteristic of the people of the country in general; and to believe that they would be manifested to all foreigners of respectability, as readily as to us, under circumstances to call them into exercise. Our friends of Praya Domingo, however, make no secret of the fact that our nationality is a strong recommendation to them. Both profess great admiration of the United States as a nation, not from what they have seen of its citizens—for we are the first and only Americans they have known—but from what they have heard and read of our history and condition, and the practical working of our institutions.

I have taken but one new walk: this was through the valley of the Larangeiras, in company with Captain McIntosh and Dr. C——. Much as I had often admired its general features, in passing through the open street of the Cateté, from which it branches westward to the mountains, the heat of the weather, and its distance from the ordinary landing, prevented a visit to it. It is a half mile, perhaps, in width at the entrance, but soon becomes only a narrow glen, terminating at the end of a couple or more miles, beneath the steep sides of the overhanging mountain. A fine carriage road winds through it, crossing and recrossing repeatedly a sparkling mountain stream, which brawls and babbles and murmurs, from side to side. It is charming throughout: so quiet and secluded, so embowered and rural, so fresh in atmosphere and luxuriant in growth, and so varied in the architecture of its dwellings, from the ornamented villa and sculptured palace, to the simplest and most humble of cottages. The orange and coffee tree, the banana and other broad-leaved vegetation of the tropics, cluster thickly around; and are overshadowed by the loftier growth of the magnificent mango, the towering palm, the feathery foliage of the tamarind and acacia, and here and there that of the thorny cotton-tree or Bombax, with its trunk and limbs well guarded by the defences which give to it a descriptive name.

Roses and jessamines, and brilliantly flowering creepers; the gay hybiscus, the thick-set bloom of the purple bignonia, and the gorgeous glare of the poinsetta, meet the eye at every turn, and fill the air with sweet perfumes. In contrast with our imprisonment on board ship at Montevideo, it was a luxury scarcely appreciable by others, to stroll amidst such imagery; with an occasional glimpse, through an open gateway or the ornamental railings of an enclosure, of the fountains and grottoes, the alcoves and bowers, the gravelled walks and tesselated pavements, the busts, the statues and statuettes, which embellish the grounds of those “rich in this world’s goods.”

Near the head of the valley, a winding pathway on one side leads up the acclivity by steep ascent, to the line of the aqueduct, fifteen hundred feet above the level below. One section of this is peculiarly beautiful. It overhangs the valley, and embowered overhead, reminded me forcibly and pleasantly in many of its features—with the exception of the tropical growth—of the gravelled terrace of the old road at Cooperstown, which leads to the “Mount Vison” of Cooper’s Pioneers. In a secluded nook near by, is the residence of the British minister: an irregular cottage, buried in shade, and vocal with the murmurings of water-courses. After passing this, as we gained height after height, and looked down with bird’s-eye view, the Larangeiras and its surroundings seemed, in the lights and shades of the hour, like a sketch in fairy land.

The fatality in the city, of the late epidemic, has led to the construction, recently, of great numbers of residences along the spurs and sides of the mountains. One of these is just finished, near the point at which we reached the aqueduct. The site is superb; and, while resting from the fatigue of the sharp ascent, we greatly enjoyed the magnificent prospect of both land and sea which it commands. From this point, the descent of five miles along the aqueduct to the city is so gradual, for the greater part of the way, as to be almost imperceptible. For two miles the pathway is a lofty terrace, cut in the face of the mountain for the course of the aqueduct, from which, beneath overhanging trees, you look up on one side, upon steep rocks and wild woods, and down on the other, as from the parapets of a lofty castle, upon a succession of views of cultivated and surprising beauty. Indeed, the whole walk seemed to me like that through a picture-gallery of magnificently drawn, and gorgeously colored landscapes. The aqueduct does not follow a straight line, but runs zigzag, at long, obtuse angles. The pathway is beside it, and in following its course, new and varied vistas, both before and behind, are constantly presented. The massive masonry, and finished workmanship of the time-marked, and moss-covered old structure, contrast strongly in their aspect of civilization, with the wildness of the overhanging cliffs and forests, while in many places, the gay coloring of the endless variety of lichens and orchidæ which cover it, gives to the surface the appearance of richly variegated marble.

Before we reached the city, the shades of the evening had gathered around us, as deeply as the moon near her second quarter would allow. Many of the objects around and above us, were thus brought in bold outline against the sky. This effect was particularly beautiful, where the palm or cocoa-nut tree spread its long and graceful plumage, in dark masses upon the light beyond.

The last striking picture which met the eye as we descended the hill of Santa Theresa, was that of a family, grouped in an arbor of roses and honeysuckle, canopied with clustering bignonia, on the angle of a wall twenty feet above our heads, silently enjoying in the twilight the last fannings of the sea-breeze, while from the towers of the convent close by, the vesper bell sent forth its silvery sounds in invitations to prayer.

June 26th.—It is to the Romish Church that we are here chiefly indebted for every thing in the way of spectacle. Two principal feast days have occurred within the week past: that of Corpus Christi on the 19th, and that of St. John the Baptist on the 24th inst. The fête of Corpus Christi was observed with great display. It was instituted by Urban IV., six hundred years ago, in honor of the then newly adopted doctrine of transubstantiation, and consequent adoration of the host. Its legendary origin is traced to Juliana, a nun of Liege, who, while looking at the full moon, saw a gap in its orb, and by peculiar revelation from heaven, learned that the moon represented the Christian Church, and the gap the want of a festival for the adoration of the body of Christ, in the consecrated wafer. This she was to begin to celebrate, and to announce to the world. The authorization of the festival by papal bull, was induced by the following miraculous incident. While a priest, who did not believe in the change of the bread into the body of Christ, was going through the ceremony of benediction, drops of blood fell upon his surplice, which, when he endeavored to conceal them in the folds of his garment, were formed into bloody images of the host. His scepticism was thus overcome; and the bull of Urban, authorizing the adoration, was published. This occurred in 1264, and the bloody surplice is still shown at Civita Vecchia as a relic!

In Rio de Janeiro, as in all papal countries, Corpus Christi is a chief festival in the year. Its celebration was commenced at the dawn of day, by a general peal of the bells from every church and convent tower, by the booming of cannon along the shores, and the hissing and crackling of rockets in the sky. Flags were every where unfurled; draperies of silk and satin, of gold and silver tissue, of damask and velvet of every hue, were displayed, from the windows and balconies of the houses in the principal streets; and the windows of the palace ornamented on the outside with rich hangings of crimson damask. High mass was performed in the imperial chapel at 11 o’clock. This was now opened for the first time, after having been for a year undergoing a thorough renovation, by regilding and new painting in fresco. The effect is rich and chaste. On either side of the nave, between the entrance and the transept, are the shrines of the apostolic saints, above which hang paintings of each, with the accustomed emblems of their individuality. “The Supper,” by a master, ornaments the altar of a side chapel at one end of the transept, and a beautifully executed and classically draped effigy of St. Julian in wax, in a sarcophagus of glass, adorns the other. The altar-piece of the grand altar covers the entire end of the chapel within the chancel. The subject is the assumption of the Virgin. The royal family of Portugal—at the time of the immigration—in attitudes of adoration, occupy the foreground: the Queen mother, John VI. and his wife, Carlota of Spain, and Don Pedro I., then a lad, being the chief figures.

The imperial body-guard in state dresses, with halberds at rest, early formed in lines on either side of the nave from the entrance to the transept. The intervening space, newly carpeted, was in reserve for the ministers of state, the officers of the household, and other dignitaries of the Empire. A procession of these soon made its appearance from a vesting-room communicating with the palace, and opened in file along the nave for the passage of the bishop and his ecclesiastical attendants to the chancel, and of the Emperor, who followed them, to a canopied throne near the high altar. The Empress and her ladies had already entered the imperial tribune facing the throne. The bishop was in full prelatic dress, wearing his mitre and bearing the gilded crosier emblematic of his office. When the chapel was thus filled, the coup d’œil presented a brilliant scene in the masses of rich embroideries in gold; the jewelled decorations of the dignitaries of state; and the court dresses of the different classes of the aristocracy. These last were chiefly of velvet in rich hues, lined with white silk—purple, maroon, mazarine and sky blue, light and dark green, and here and there a suit of the same of plain black.